


You Were There All Along

by brokenlittleboy



Series: Commissions [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Everyone Is Gay, First Kiss, Fluff, Jealous Dean, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Season/Series 01, Preseries, Protective Dean Winchester, Queer Character, Requited Unrequited Love, Weecest, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: Sam was going to go insane spending a humid summer doing absolutely nothing. He'd wanted to go to a summer camp like a normal kid, but Dean refused. Out of the blue one day, just before camp started, Dean promised to take him. Sam was over the moon, right up until he was introduced to all the camp counselors--one of them being Dean. Things became even more puzzling after a boy took a shine to Sam, and Dean became increasingly withdrawn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a commission for the amazing poeticdistaster83 on tumblr :) Thank you so much for the amazing prompt, beebs! I got super into writing it.

 

Sam barrelled through the door of their most recent rental, dropped his backpack onto the carpeting, and collapsed onto the couch. Face pressed into the cushions, he let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. He had no bones, at least none that he could feel. Urgh. He had only been on summer break for a week but he was already getting antsy. During the school year, he was incredibly busy with schoolwork, extracurriculars, and research for Dean and Dad’s cases. He found himself working so often that when he had nothing to do, a sticky-cold feeling of dread would cling to the base of his spine. 

In past summers, he’d been allowed to go on several hunts with Dad, and in August, Dad had allowed him to go to a tech camp in Santa Clara, convinced Sam would pick up some skills that could be useful for hunting in the modern age. Sam had been over the moon.

This time, though, Dad was gone on some crazy demon hunt with Bobby and Caleb, and he wouldn’t be back for at least three weeks. School was out, so Sam looked up local camps. There weren’t any that would stand out that much on a college application, not like that tech one, but still. Even a traditional “Lake Whatchamacallit” week would be better than nothing. He was sick of nothing. He’d been training like crazy, running all about town like someone was on his tail just to distract himself, but he could only wear himself out for so long.

He’d asked Dean to let him go to Camp Elk a thousand times, begged, bargained (cleaning the Impala, beer-fetching, anything he could think of), but nothing would shake Dean. Sometimes Dean took his role as “in charge” while Dad was gone way too fucking seriously, and Sam was sick of it. 

Sam pried the T.V. remote out from between the couch cushions and turned the T.V. on, not even bothering to pay attention to what came on. He just needed the background noise, something to distract him from the stuffy silence and the dense humidity that was turning him into a semi-sentient pile of goo.

Dean wandered in just then, appearing from the hallway and making his way to their kitchenette. This rental was cramped, with one bedroom and bathroom, and everything within hearing range. Meaning on the nights Sam had been unfairly banished to the couch, he’d heard every word spoken by the tittering girls that Dean brought in like he was taking them hot off a factory production line. 

Dean opened the fridge and took out two cans of sodas. He tossed one to Sam and Sam just barely caught it, nearly avoiding being pelted in the face with tin. Even though a cold drink sounded like heaven, Sam didn’t have enough energy reserves to even crack the tab. 

Dean flopped down beside him and opened up both of the cans, forcing the second one up to Sam’s mouth. Sam made a face and took the drink from him, taking a small sip. The lemony carbonation helped him become a little more human, but it was chump change. This summer was going to kill him, most absolutely. Or drive him crazy. He’d always wanted to spend more time in Arizona. Maybe he’d just up and go himself. It was a thought.

Sam hadn’t even notice that Dean had left until he came back, dropping his body onto the couch heavily enough to startle Sam. Sam sat up a little taller, scooting toward the arm of the couch to make room for Dean’s wide-legged sprawl. 

“Hey,” Dean grunted. Sam blinked. “Hey, lazy ass.”

“Hmmph,” Sam hummed, stretching his toes out.

Something fell into his lap. Sam looked down to find a lanyard with a miniature flashlight and compass clipped onto to the end. Sam held it up, frowning. They already had these things, and certainly didn’t need a lanyard for them, not with their layers and layers of hunter’s clothing. “What’s this for?” he asked, absentmindedly rubbing the pad of his index finger across the cool glass face of the compass.

Dean shrugged. “Figured you’d need it for camp so you can fit in with all the other little nerds.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, peering at Dean with as much scrutiny as he could muster. Dean kept his eyes on the T.V. screen, though he was clearly aware of Sam’s penetrating gaze. He was almost too cool, too collected. Very typical Dean when he’s up to something.

“You said I couldn’t go to camp,” Sam finally said, sick of the chicken game they were playing.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean said. “But I’m not sayin’ it anymore. Go nuts.”

Sam sat up straighter, renewed energy propelling him forward. “Really?” he asked. “What changed your mind?”

“I dunno,” Dean sighed. “I guess watching your brain dissolve in slow motion was getting boring.”

“Jerk,” Sam spat, but his tone was full of bright energy. “Thank you.”

“Eh,” Dean waved him off. “Bitch.”

“You have good timing,” Sam said. “First day’s in two days. The camp is two weeks long, overnight. Think you can drive me? I think we’ve got everything I need, really. Sleeping bag, bug spray, swim trunks… I heard the lake the place is on is gorgeous. I hope I get to go canoeing.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, but a smile broke through his charade of annoyance. “God, I’ll drive you if it’ll get you to shut up.”

Sam inhaled. “I should pack. Uh, thanks.” He darted up and dragged Dean into a brief hug before sprinting off, grabbing his backpack from the floor and making a beeline toward the bedroom in the back of the house.

Back in the living room, Dean grinned to himself and downed the rest of Sam’s soda, sighing in pleasure. He slumped further into the couch cushions, changing the channel to a brand new medical drama he’d taken a liking to.

 

***

 

Sam’s knee was practically vibrating. His backpack was in the Impala’s footwell by his feet, he was wearing his best clothing, and was fresh out of the shower. It was around nine in the morning. Camp Elk was a half hour drive from their place. Today was registration, until noon. After that, the activities began. 

And Dean still wasn’t ready. He didn’t even need to pack anything. What was taking him so long?

After an eternity, Dean arrived, tossing another backpack into the back. “What’s that for?” Sam asked, watching as Dean turned the key in the ignition and turned the radio on, flipping the dial until it was at the second-highest setting. 

Dean threw his arm across the back of the bench seat as he craned his neck, staring behind them as he backed the car out of the driveway. “Just some stuff,” he said, “I thought I’d need it.”

Sam didn’t ask. In any other circumstances, Dean’s activity would have triggered several alarm bells, but he was too excited and preoccupied. He was having trouble deciding if he should go to a woodworking workshop or not. It might come in handy.

 

***

 

Dean dropped Sam off at the entrance. The Impala was gone a second later, engine groaning laboriously in the southern heat, spitting up dirt and gravel behind its wheels.

Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked through the wooden arches bearing the camp’s name. There were tents spread all around a wide open natural area, each with different components of orientation and registration written on the banners. 

It wasn’t long before Sam had a map, an introductory pamphlet, and had been properly oriented. The heat abated a little as they got to noontime and clouds drifted over the sun. Sam used his complimentary battery-powered fan to cool off while he could. 

The last thing they all had to do before lunch was meet their camp counselors and get assigned to a “house.” The houses were just rickety cabins where eight boys and a counselor would room together. Each one had a theme. In the second week, they’d all play games, earning points, and only one house would come out on top. While it seemed a bit silly, Sam could feel his blood buzzing. He had a dangerous competitive streak that he wasn’t proud of, and this competition seemed like a safe way to give it an outlet.

They were all led to a wooded area with several fire pits and log benches. There was a larger, central campfire area further in, with enough seating for all forty-some of the campers to sit on logs, pressed up against each other. The camp director stood in the middle and told them all the fun things they’d do this summer, as well as all the restrictions they had, legal bullshit, and lots of not-so-fun things.

Once he was done, he started hyping the audience up for the introduction of the counselors, though it wasn’t very successful. They came out one by one, introduced themselves, got a weak smattering of claps in return, and stood off to the side, chattering amongst themselves.

Sam started to tune out the names after the third counselor started talking about how much he enjoyed making new friends and doing team building exercises. It was only when the second to last counselor was called up that he jerked upright, called to attention, ears pricked.

“...Dean Hoffman!” The director called out cheerily, unaware of how their most recent cover made Sam’s blood pressure spike. Dean strode out into the center of the group of kids, swagger on full force. He beamed cheekily at all of them. Across the fire was the girls’ section, and Sam watched several of them lick their lips and puff their chests out.

“Hey, all,” Dean said, smooth as all getup. “I’m Dean. I like long walks on the beach and muscle cars. I’m a camp counselor ‘cause I thought it’d help me understand how all you young brainiacs work.” He got some genuine laughter for that, some ass-kissing laughter, but Sam knew that Dean wasn’t joking.

Dean caught his eye and winked. Sam knew his own eyes must be wide open in pure bafflement, caught out. He got ahold of himself just before Dean looked away and shot him a molten, simmering glare. 

Sam sat impatiently through the last counselor’s rambling, overly-sparkly introduction, fingers twitching on his knees. His jaw kept ticking. Once the introductions were complete, it was time to get assigned to a cabin. Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to be in Dean’s or not. He couldn’t judge the situation, and ruminated silently, waiting for his name to be called.

He got assigned to the Briar Cabin, which was led by a lanky dude named Craig. Dean was the leader of the Buckthorn Cabin. Sam supposed the assignments must’ve been made based on some information on his sign-up sheet, for Dean’s group seemed considerably more rowdy than Sam’s own pipsqueak-laden, introverted group.

Sam skipped his group introduction games and pushed his way through throngs of people to Dean’s side. Dean was leaning back, letting his group do something with a piece of paper being passed along a circle. “What are you doing here?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear through gritted teeth.

Dean smirked at him. “I couldn’t let you come here alone, dude. Who knows what kinds of pervs prowl this place? Did you see Director Dan? He even has the ‘stache.”

Sam elbowed Dean as hard as he could, ignoring the theatrical wince and offended look Dean gave him. “It’s not funny, Dean,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can,” Dean agreed, all too readily. “I won’t bother you, won’t even speak to you. Just pretend I’m not even here.”

Sam huffed, and prepared to grit out another insult, but he was called away by Craig. He made his way back to his group, imaginary steam hissing out of his ears. 

Once he’d been introduced to all of his house members, all of the campers were brought back together again to mingle. The first week was supposed to be about working together, to nurture friendship before the competition began, but groups were already sticking to each other and heckling others. 

Sam kept mostly to himself. He tried to blame Dean, but he knew that even if his brother hadn’t tagged along in his overprotective, overbearing way of his, he’d probably still be a wallflower. He always imagined himself cracking a joke with a group of normal-looking friends, drinking normal drinks, in a normal suburban house, but every time he was anywhere near a situation that was close to that, he got all cowed.

Having Dean here felt like having a parent hang out with their kids. Sam couldn’t relate, except he could, jesus christ. Dean was a leather jacket-donning helicopter. 

Sam leaned against a pine tree. It was getting closer to dinner now, and clouds had overtaken the sky, making everything look darker and bluer than 5 P.M. He breathed in deeply, the aroma of the pines helping to calm him down. 

He watched boys roam, watched girls weave, eyes sometimes catching on Dean before skating immediately away. He got lost in his thoughts, eyes glazing over, looking toward the placid lake through the trees but not quite seeing it.

“It’s all pretty gorgeous, huh?” a raspy voice said to his left. Sam jumped, cheeks burning. He wasn’t the kind of person to get caught unawares. He turned to face a spiky-haired, dark-eyed boy he recognized from Dean’s cohort.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Sam said, forcing a small smile. “Super scenic.”

“Shame it’s wasted on these guys,” the boy said. “Don’t get me wrong, some of them are cool, but places like this are so rare, you know? I mean, that lake. Wow. It’s practically made for skinnydipping.”

Sam coughed in surprise. The boy laughed out loud at him. “A good introduction, huh? I’m Chance.”

“Hi,” Sam said. “I’m Sam.”

“Sam,” Chance repeated approvingly. “Well, I think it’s time to eat. Wanna grab something with me?”

Sam’s gut reaction was to make an excuse of some kind and disappear into his group of near-invisible boys, but part of him was screaming at him to just take a damn chance and make a friend for once. He forced himself to grin a little bit wider. “Sure,” he said, and felt more confident in his decision when Chance lit up like Sam had just made his day.

It turned out that Chance actually had a lot in common with Sam, at least, a hell of a lot more in common than most other boys. Chance had been removed from a shitty family situation at a young age, and had moved from foster home from foster home since then, mostly fending for himself. It was the first time in a long while that he had a family he didn’t loathe, and he’d have to leave them only a couple of days after camp ended. 

Sam related. He told Chance about how his Dad did dangerous work, all around the country, vague about the details, but he ended up venting about how he hated leaving places as soon as he made friends, emotions clouded with a powerful relief that his Dad had actually come back alive to tell them they were leaving in the first place.

They both had ambition, but were saddled down with factors beyond their control. They both loved dogs, they both liked the same shows, the list went on.

Still, as many similarities as Sam and Chance shared, Chance and Dean shared even more. Chance was confident and slightly aloof, with that same lopsided grin as Dean. He had the same taste in music, the same smoking habit that Sam disapproved of. Their personality just held the same kind of comforting charisma. Sam felt safe with Dean, and as the night went on, he began to feel safe with Chance. 

It was a relief to be away from home and not hidden by walls and dangerous instincts. He was used to watching other boys behind a bulletproof pane of glass, but with Chance, he ended up talking to some other boys, letting his shoulders slump, just a little bit.

After dinner, they had about an hour to themselves before curfew would force them to their cabins. They headed down to the shore with the sun setting over the water, burning everything on the horizon a burnt gold, the rest of the sky deep blue. It was postcard-perfect in Sam’s eyes.

They sat on the sand with their shoes off and pants rolled up, toes in the cool water. Sam didn’t know Chance well enough to sit in complete silence with him, so he kept rambling on about small things, Chance breaking in every once in awhile to snark at him.

Sam found himself growing tired and listing steeply toward Chance before he would jerk awake again and apologize. Chance said it was no problem, he was tired, too. Yet neither of them made to leave. 

Sam blinked. Something woke him, instincts awakening. He sat up. He’d been leaning against Chance’s shoulder. He looked around them, yawning. The hairs on the back of his neck started tingling and he whipped around to see Dean in the trees, watching him with an unreadable look on his face. For a reason he couldn’t describe, Sam felt himself burning up, shame roiling uncomfortably in his stomach.

He shook Chance’s shoulder. Chance’s head popped up, eyes bleary but clearing quickly. “Oh shit,” he laughed. “Guess we were more tired than we thought, huh?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “See you tomorrow, Chance.”

***

 

It wasn’t long before Chance established himself as a friend Sam would hate to lose when camp ended. He knew Chance was dreading the same fate, and even though it hurt, it drew them closer. They rarely interacted with the other boys, choosing instead to wander the densely forested paths or push a boat out onto the lake and float out into the middle, kept stationary in a moment forever under the dry blue sky.

True to his word, Dean never talked to Sam. Sam saw him every so often, and as the weeks continued, Dean began to look more and more worn, with tired, unhappy eyes. Sam felt a twinge of guilt every time they made eye contact. Dean was here because of Sam, and he wasn’t even having fun.

Near the end of the first week, Chance brought Sam to a quiet clearing a half mile or so from the main campsite. They sat on flat, warm boulders, staring up at the clouds in silence. Chance shuffled closer, nudging Sam with his shoulder. Sam shot him a questioning look and Chance smiled back, though there was something insecure in the look, causing Sam to turn and give his friend his full attention.

“Wanna see my tattoo?” Chance asked.

Sam’s eyes bugged out. “You have a tattoo?” he asked.

“Yeah? Just said so,” Chance said.

“You’re fourteen,” Sam stated dumbly.

“Fourteen, and foster home kid,” Chance pointed out. “I could have more if I wanted, with the guardians I’ve had. I got permission. I just wanted the one, though. It’s important.”

Now it all clicked together. Sam nodded. “Can I see?” he asked, watching as Chance builds himself up.

“Yeah,” Chance grunted, returning to his aloof, Deanish disposition. He rolled up a sleeve on his shirt. Just above his elbow was a rainbow-striped heart, about an inch and a half across. Chance waited, eyes flicking up to gauge Sam’s reaction before skittering away.

Sam felt his heart go squeezy-tender. So, another thing they had in common. “I like it,” Sam managed, throat dry. “I’m not sure if I want any tattoos, but if I did, I might--I might get one like that.”

Chance’s eyes went wide and vulnerable and Sam’s heart hurt even worse. “You would?” he asked, his voice so quiet.

Sam nodded, throat filling up. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

After that, it was a dance. There was something unspoken between them, something that hadn’t yet been broached, something that could become a whole lot of firsts in Sam’s life. 

He felt like a girl when he couldn’t sleep at night, overthinking it to the moon and back. Would Chance make a good first? Was Chance experienced? Chance had gotten hurt in ways Sam couldn’t imagine. Maybe it wouldn’t be good for him.

Did Sam want it? Oh god, he was fourteen, of course he did.

But with Chance?

It was a loaded question. During the day, he ignored it in the same way Chance did and went on like normal, pretending nothing had changed. 

 

***

 

He was eating lunch in the cafeteria one day when Dean actually initiated contact, sliding into the spot next to Sam when Chance git up to go to the bathroom. 

“Who’s the kid?” Dean asked, blunt, skipping any formalities.

Sam swallowed his mashed potatoes. “Chance?” he asked. “He’s my friend.”

“Yeah?” Dean didn’t sound convinced. “Where’s he from?”

“All over, actually,” Sam said, a little sharp edge to his words. “Just like us. He’s a foster kid.”

Dean nodded, lips pursed, jaw clenched. He noticed Sam watching him and tried to look a little less homicidal. “You trust him?”

Sam took a second to respond to make it all the more meaningful. “Yes,” he said, looking Dean in the eye.

Something changed in Dean’s expression, something Sam couldn’t quite decipher. His first translation was something akin to sadness, but he knew that couldn’t be right. “Okay,” Dean responded, bobbing his head, turning and getting up to leave as Chance exited the bathroom and made his way back to Sam at the end of their lonely table.

“You know Dean?” Chance asked. “He’s my counselor.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I know him.”

 

***

 

They were halfway through the second week when everything changed. Sam’s cabin mates had veritably made him an outcast ever since he refused to show much interest in the camp-wide competition. More than ever, it was just him and Chance.

Chance asked him to sneak out after curfew so they could have more time to themselves and get ready to say goodbye before they’d go their separate ways. Sam agreed, a small thrill shooting through him at the thought of breaking the rules, no matter how easy to break they were.

They met on the lake at midnight and worked together in silent synchronization to push a canoe with peeling deep red paint out into the water. They climbed into it together, giggling like children.

They paddled out into the center of the lake and settled under the bright light of the full moon. Everything was cast in silver and was soft and sensitive. They were given a wall of privacy by the mass chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, summer sounds rising peacefully all around them.

Chance had memorized Sam’s P.O. box address. He promised to make his own so that they could stay semi-reliable pen pals throughout the years even as they moved. Maybe they’d even end up in the same place again. For a big country, it was definitely a small world.

“I can’t wait to get out,” Chance said, out of nowhere. “When I’m eighteen, I mean,” he added, after Sam’s questioning silence. “When I’m on my own, I can find a place to live, and make it my own. Maybe I’ll even go to school. I won’t have to answer to any more grown up idiots.”

“I know what you mean,” Sam sighed. “It shouldn’t be so hard to be normal. Safe.”

“You should go to school,” Chance pointed out. “You ever think about that?”

“You kidding me?” Sam laughed. “All the time.”

“Well, you’re smart,” Chance prodded. “You’d be a shoo-in, anywhere you wanna go. Plus, they’d pay for you to go there, too. Scholarships, Sam. You could go anywhere for free. Imagine that.”

“It’s nice, I guess I just…” Sam searched for the right words. “I don’t know, it feels so impossible, so far away. It’s like I can’t imagine ever being there for real. I feel like-”

“Like what?” Chance whispered.

“Like I’ll be dead first,” Sam said back, staring out at the shiny waves, like mercury in the darkness. “Like I’ll never get the chance.”

“Yes you will,” Chance said, and his voice had a violent, desperate edge to it, like a wild animal in a cage. “You are so good, Sam. You’re better than all those pricks who don’t know what they’ve got. You will be happy someday.”

Chance sounded so confident that something in Sam broke. “I want to believe you,” he said, voice cracking, “and I want it, but. There’s so much. So much you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” Chance said with increasing urgency. He grabbed Sam’s wrist and pulled him closer until Sam practically fell in his lap, knees knocking. “We have some time. We have a little bit more time to be together.”

Sam swallowed, pupils dilating. He could see how big Chance’s eyes were, could feel his heat in the cool summer night air. He didn’t pull back, Chance’s grasp like a hot iron around his wrist. Sam could feel his heart pounding away in his chest. Chance’s lips were open.

Without warning, Chance reared back, eyes focusing on something behind them and widening. “Oh, shit!” he said.

Sam whirled around, the boat rocking underneath them. Another boat was approaching slowly and steadily, a single lantern hanging off the front. Sam turned back around. “Keep still,” he said. “We’ll just be honest. If it’s one of the counselors, they’re all only eighteen or nineteen. They’ll understand. We’ve just got to hope it’s not Dan.”

Chance nodded. “Not like we can have a high-speed boat race or something,” he said, smiling. “Gotta accept our fates.”

It wasn’t until the boat was less than five feet away that Sam could actually make out the passenger in the darkness. His heart sank; of course there was an option he hadn’t thought of that was worse than Dan.

It was Dean. It was Dean, and he was fucking furious. Sam turned around to find Chance cringing with embarrassment. It startled him for a second before he remembered that Dean was Chance’s counselor.

Dean lined their boats up. “Back on shore, now,” he barked at them, with a level of severity that Sam hadn’t heard since he’d popped a tire learning how to drive Baby.

The trip back to shore was awkward as hell. Their boats moved in tandem, only ever a few feet away, completely silent except for the splash of water against the paddles and their grunts and pants of exertion.

On shore, Chance approached Dean. “Look man, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t care about you,” Dean interjected. “Back to the cabin.”

Chance shut his jaw fast enough for his teeth to click. He shot Sam a look that seemed to say he was afraid Dean was gonna kill Sam. Sam gave him a reassuring look, jerking his head. It was only after another murderous look from Dean that Chance finally left, disappearing into the woods, back toward camp.

Sam felt frustration burn at the corners of his eyes. He sighed. “Dean, what-”

All of the breath was punched out of him when Dean grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him roughly back against a tree, slinking forward and crowding up into his space. The lantern burned merrily away at their feet.

“What were you doing with him,” Dean growled, eyes sparkling, flinty and cold.

“I-” Sam swallowed, pulse fluttering in his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, well, I do,” Dean said. “He was gonna take advantage of you, Sammy. What the hell were you thinking?”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sam snapped back, a match struck in the darkness, suddenly just as furious as Dean, if not more. “You couldn’t let me have one fucking normal experience, could you? First you come here and embarrass me, then you interrupt what might’ve been my first kiss! And so what if it’s with a guy? I like him, Dean, and I don’t care! I don’t care what you think!” His voice cracked. “If I had known that you… that judged people like that, then I wouldn’t-”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean murmured, and Sam sniffed, wilting against the tree, bark digging into his back. “I wasn’t judging you for that, alright? Never.”

Dean’s voice was oddly tender, and Sam was exhausted, burnt out by trying to decipher all of Dean’s confusing mood swings over the past few weeks. “Then what are you doing?” Sam asked. “Just tell me, okay? I don’t understand.”

“Fuck, I-” Dean swore softly, leaning into Sam’s space until their foreheads were touching. His hands didn’t leave Sam’s shoulders, but his touch became gentler. “I didn’t want him to be your first.”

There was a lot to unpack there. “Why?” Sam asked.

Dean pulled back a fraction and looked into Sam’s eyes. Something was broken open there, something raw, something Sam had never seen before, let alone known it had existed. It made him listen to what Dean had to say with a certain carefulness.

“I want.” Dean coughed. His voice was too quiet, too grumbly. He breathed out onto Sam’s face. “I wanna be your first,” he murmured. “I couldn’t stand lettin’ him do that. The way he looks at you, Sammy, like you’re friggin’ Fabio himself. You barely even know him. You know me.”

“Dean, I…” Sam swallowed. It was cheesy, it was perfect, surrounded by the warm lantern light, but everything made sense in a single moment, just then. Why Chance had made him feel so safe, why he’d felt so guilty whenever Dean saw them together, why his entire body ached with love-hurt right then.

They didn’t need words. Dean understood him just fine by the expressions that melted across Sam’s face, one after the other. In perfect synchronization, Dean’s hands found Sam’s jaw and Sam leaned in, noses bumping as Dean kissed him, as he was kissed for the first time.

He didn’t really get the hang of it at first, lips stilling uncertainly under Dean’s more experienced ones, but Dean’s hands roamed his body, soft and familiar with just the right amount of pressure, and he eventually opened his mouth under Dean’s coaxing, letting Dean take the lead and nibble on his bottom lip. He relaxed into Dean’s steady arms, gaining the courage to kiss him back, over and over, quiet, wet noises filling the space around them.

Dean pulled away and rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, breathing shakily, hands tightening on Sam’s hips. Sam looked up at the silhouettes of foliage above them, wishing he’d understood it all earlier but so grateful he did at all. He knew there were complications, there was fear; hell, there was Dad, but right then, it didn’t matter.

Dean pulled back and brushed Sam’s bangs out of his face, frowning. He cleared his throat, looking away, shoulders rolling. “So, uh-”

Sam grabbed him by the hand, entwining his fingers with Dean’s. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do that. It’s okay.” He smiled. “Really.”

“God, Sammy,” Dean rasped. “If you knew, kid. If you knew.”

“I do,” Sam said, love and solemnity curling around each other like smoke curling into the sky. “I do, Dean. You don’t have to worry about Chance. I had him confused for you. He’s just my friend. He won’t do anything. We’ve got a few days left, if you-” Sam cut himself short. “I know a lot of good secret fields and things, if you want.” He blushed.

“I know,” Dean chuckled. “I’ve been worried out of my damn mind, following you around. I know all your spots.”

“You creep,” Sam said, pushing Dean. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I know, Sam. I just. I wanna spend all my time with you, you know? I can’t help it. You’re stuck with me.”

“You can,” Sam said. “We have forever. I need you, I ignore everyone else when you’re around. It’s dumb but… I can’t exist without you.”

Dean kissed him once more. “Good,” he said, sounding pleased and possessive, sending a shiver down Sam’s entire body. “It’s freaky, but we can do it, Sammy. I think. Come on.”

They went back to the cabins together, hand in hand.

Sam slept soundly that night.

 

***

 

Chance took the rejection with grace. He seemed to be a bit relieved, like he didn’t have to play out a quick and heartbreaking summer romance after at all. He repeated Sam’s address to him just to show him that things were still good. They weren’t as close as they were before, like they were a half second out of sync with each other, but it was still more than Sam had never known with anyone else. 

Except Dean, of course.

Speaking of, they managed to fit a lot of secret makeout sessions into the last remaining days. Even though no one else knew they were brothers, Sam got a shot of adrenaline every time they ran off together, like they were vigilantes in a world of police.

A lot hung unsaid around them. There were hundreds of unspoken problems that drifted into their heads and left a fog of doubt in their wake.

Despite all of that, the bond between them superseded all else. They spent the days at camp pressed against each other, sharing new tender touches and silly, cheesy murmured words.

The promise was unspoken. It’d be hard, they knew, near impossible at times, but despite any breaks they might have, any fractures, they knew- even their souls knew- that it was them against the world. They would always find their way back to each other. They would always heal.

A week later, Dad came home.

Two weeks after that, Sam ran away to Flagstaff.

fin

 

**Author's Note:**

> My pining for the summer has now increased tenthousandfold.
> 
> Thank you again to poeticdistaster83, you are a wonderful shining star <3333
> 
> AO3 made me delete my little spiel about commissions on my blog, which I think is crap, but hey. This message technically is just as well :/
> 
> Thanks again to all you sweet and dedicated readers. Your encouragement keeps me going.
> 
> <3


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